A Shared Journey
by Alund of the Prophecy
Summary: Inspired by actual gaming sessions. A tale of the life of adventurers, following a single, close-knit group from their first meeting to their inevitable separation. Violent battle scenes included.


Preface: This story was started in my early days of writing, and as a result, the following chapter is not very good. Be wary. However, this is the only chapter I finished at the time, and five years have since passed. My hope is I can simply submit a new chapter to this story whenever the urge hits me to add on.  
  
Note: This story is based off a series of Dungeons & Dragons games my close circle of friends and I played together weekly for a year. The character concepts are all their own idea, though I do take artistic license with the storytelling. The plot was entirely motivated by our Dungeon Master, so that is not my own, original idea. Further chapters of this story will be based from the myriad of notes I took during those gaming sessions so long ago.  
  
The Beginning  
  
Scattered mugs on rough wood. Rough wood marked and scuffed, or even dented. Shards of glass on floor. Walls made of mortar and wood. Windows low in number, not large enough, and coated in dirt. Lanterns hanging from ceiling, dim light but merriment ensues. Bottles and flasks of liquor and ale line a wall behind the bar. Two stout oaken doors, one leads to fresh air, the other to fresh linen. Such is the existence of an inn.  
  
There are faces, as well. White faces, brown faces, black faces, gray faces, ruddy faces, faces hidden behind mugs, pale faces hidden under thick burlap hoods, wide faces with broad noses, slim faces with large eyes, and hairy faces. Hair of all different lengths and colors. Curly hair, straight hair, wavy hair, or no hair. Beards, long and unkempt, braided and adorned with jewelry, or shaved close to the skin. Mustaches, either there or not, always kept short. Men and women alike gathered around tables or at the bar, wearing armor and clothes of all different types, and bearing rucksacks, backpacks, ample belts, or just a simple bag.  
  
The place smelled of alcohol and body odor. All sorts of exotic smells also mingled and mixed with the two primary ones. Smells of spices brought from far-off lands or of the strange perfumes of the forest. Noise filled the room, but it wasn't a mixture of distinguishable noises, but rather the distinct cacophony generated by such public gathering places. The special low hum of chattering voices, clinking mugs, and laughter. No sound could be told apart from the others, yet one could know they were there.  
  
The strange thing about this inn was that it was no longer serving supper fit for a king. Any food that was bought was either salted down meat or a hunk of old bread. The food shortage was unsettling to all in the room, but no one knew how it had come about. No one but two men sitting at the bar.  
  
The first was a rare specimen to be seen in the pub section of an inn: he was a priest. His run-of-the-mill face and ordinary looks indicated that he was a human, but a young one at that. He was, indeed, only twenty. Holy symbols of the sun god Pelor were either around his neck or painted onto the scale mail armor he wore. His head was bare, and bore a matted layer of brown hair. He was stocky and thick-boned, but still retained that certain pseudo-divine grace that all clerical people seem to possess. The backpack that sat beside him on the floor of the room was nondescript, but the handle of a heavy mace protruded from an opening covered by a flap on it. His dark blue eyes were haunted but serene, and flicked quickly to look at the door leading outside, obviously searching for something.  
  
The other man, who sat beside the cleric, was quite his opposite. He stood a lofty six feet four inches, nearly a foot taller than his holy comrade. He was covered from head to foot in plates and coverings of leather, which seemed to cinch him in too tightly, for he was rather bulky. His face was clean and shaven, but older than his comrade's by nearly ten years. Locks of dark brown hair poked out from underneath the leather helmet he wore, and his hazel eyes were slightly clouded, as if he wasn't entirely there in mind. Each of his hips bore a longsword in its sheath, and a longbow was slung over his shoulder. He was a ranger, a man of the forest, a hunter and adventurer. Cunning and knowledgeable with the forest was he, but slightly touched in the head as well, though it was not apparent at first.  
  
These two men, although an unlikely pair, were joined by a special necessity: their mission. The town that held the inn they were in was under a plague. Crops would not grow, and the people were beginning to starve. If these two could not find a solution soon, the town would surely evaporate. People would be forced to leave or die trying, for they would be so exhausted and hungry that they could never make it to the next town. These two men were confronted with a serious task, which they could not fail.  
  
Just as the cleric was taking another glance at the door, it opened, and the cool night air swept into the room. It brought two newcomers with it. Quite out of place were these two, but not entirely unusual. They were elves, and elves were always welcome. Thin and short, with pointed ears, they carried the graceful energy all elves are born with. The two, a man and a woman, entered the tavern warily, as though it would swallow them whole if they didn't act correctly. What struck the cleric particularly was the man's striking good looks. The man was very short, perhaps slightly under five feet, with hair that hung down to the base of his shoulders, brushed behind his ears. He wore simple clothes: a brown burlap vest with one button, a leather belt, woolen pants drawn closed with a string, and leather moccasins. A dagger was shoved through a loop in the belt and covered in a leather sheath, and a quarterstaff was stuck in a loop of the canvas backpack the man wore. Other than that, he appeared to be an ordinary traveler.  
  
The elf woman with him was far less attractive. She still bore the grace of an elf, but not as well as her partner. The same height as him, she wore simple clothes, all of the same forest green color: a cloak with a hood, an ordinary linen shirt, a belt, wool pants, and boots. She was considerably less heavy and more frail than her male companion, as many elf women were, but was obviously quite capable of defending herself. The longsword in a sheath on her left hip and the shortbow slung over her shoulder proved that. Like all elves, she had deep green eyes, and like many elves, dark brown hair down to her lower back. She also appeared to be slightly younger than the elf man, but not by much. What caught the cleric's attention most of all was the spellbook carefully tucked into a fold of her backpack. She was a wizard. As she closed the door, the draft blew out a lantern hanging over a nearby table. The elf man unobtrusively reached up and touched a finger to the wick of the lantern, which instantly lit up again. The cleric turned fully around in his chair. A wizard and a sorcerer. He thought that just maybe he had found the right people for his mission.  
  
Ivellios regarded the pub he had just entered, then sighed within. Another pub. Another pub in a long string of pubs on pubs that he and Jaleane had been to ever since they had left together. Why couldn't inns just be inns, and not have the pub for once? Almost every time Ivellios and Jaleane went into a pub, they got into trouble. Either Ivellios got slightly drunk and did something he later regretted, or one of the pub's patrons got drunk and took out his frustrations on Ivellios and Jaleane. The scar on Ivellios' right palm stung slightly, reminding him of one such incident. Having had too much to drink, Ivellios had made the mistake of arguing with an orc. It eventually ended up with Jaleane going for an unpredicted swim in the river nearby, and Ivellios getting his right palm slashed open. Ivellios had made a promise to Jaleane to never drink more than one mug again. It wasn't that Ivellios was a drunkard, but he simply enjoyed the taste of ale, and, like a child with fruit juice, drank it because it tasted so good. Jaleane, although she was eight years younger than Ivellios, had more common sense than the sorcerer by far, and considered it her duty to be his voice of reason.  
  
She had been his voice of reason for twenty-five years, on and off. Ivellios had first met Jaleane when he was only fifty, little more than a child and orphaned at an early age. His parents had been murdered by an evil entity when he was still very young, and he had left his house in search of a way to hone his uncontrollable powers of sorcery. Ivellios had changed his name from Quarion to Ivellios when he had left home, but he was over eighty years too early to abandon his child name. He had met Jaleane in an elven forest village when she was still under her child name, Mion. Mion had found out Ivellios was a sorcerer soon after they met, and was intrigued so much by his magic that she began studying to be a wizard. Ivellios made two visits to Jaleane's home in the elven forest, each for ten years, but he couldn't stay very long in one place, and left after each visit. Just when it was approaching time to visit Mion again, Ivellios had been gored in a skirmish near a dwarven town and had to enter a fifty-year healing trance. When he awoke, he traveled the land for another fifteen years before remembering Mion and paying her another visit. In his absence, Mion had grown from a fledgling magic student to a full wizard, and had changed her name to Jaleane after her 100th birthday. Ivellios was impressed by how far she had come, and they had set off to journey together. That had been five years ago. Ivellios felt Jaleane lean over to whisper in his ear.  
  
"Now, Vel, remember what you promised me," she whispered, chiding him.  
  
"I've remembered it for the past five years, Jal," Ivellios whispered back, accenting the remark with Jaleane's most hated pet name. Jaleane frowned.  
  
"I told you not to call me that," she said, annoyed.  
  
"Excuse me, Mion," Ivellios replied with a sarcastic bow.  
  
"Oh, stop it," Jaleane ordered. "We're only coming here for the night, you said, and I only agreed because you promised me you wouldn't drink too much."  
  
"Jaleane, I'm not a drunk," Ivellios snapped quietly. "Even if ale did not make one drunk, I'd still drink it."  
  
"I know, but don't drink so much just because it tastes good."  
  
"Very well," Ivellios agreed, "but stop bothering me about it."  
  
Jaleane nodded, and the two wandered over to the bar, where Ivellios got a mug of ale and Jaleane a tin cup of water. As the two began to drink, a human, dressed in the vestments of a cleric of Pelor, came over to them and tapped Ivellios on the shoulder. Ivellios turned around and looked at the man.  
  
"Yes?" Ivellios asked, prompting the cleric.  
  
"Greetings," the cleric began. "I am Jostiph Mandarek, priest of the holy god Pelor and leader of the religious community in Downs. My comrade," the man gestured to the ranger, who had also walked over, "is Nahrf Guberstein Ik Dorken, a ranger who lives around these parts."  
  
"I wish you both happiness," Ivellios replied. "What do you want?"  
  
"Our village of Downs is afflicted with a great tragedy," Jostiph informed him. "Crops refuse to grow in our soil, and the trees around the village are dying in droves. We fear a curse has been placed on the city, but I am unable to dispel it. Nahrf and I have decided to seek the assistance of the druids that live on the other side of the Dragonteeth Mountains, but the journey is treacherous and we will need help."  
  
"How can we help?" Ivellios asked, pointing to himself and Jaleane.  
  
"You are both wizards or magic users of some kind," Jostiph replied. "Magic users are quite useful on trips such as this, and your sorcery may help protect our group from evil."  
  
"Who else is going with you?" Jaleane asked.  
  
"We have a few from Downs, but no one as yet from here in Caladan," Jostiph replied.  
  
"No one? There are plenty of people here!" Nahrf said to Jostiph.  
  
"My friend, we have asked everyone here already," the cleric replied.  
  
"Well, ask them again!" Nahrf reasoned.  
  
"We have asked them already," Jostiph explained. "That is why we were watching the door and waiting for others to come in so we could ask them."  
  
"Well, there's no hurt in trying again," Nahrf sent back. Jostiph sighed, and turned back to Ivellios and Jaleane. "Will you help us?"  
  
Ivellios looked at Jaleane for her response. Jaleane looked back at him.  
  
"It's a chance to finally go on an adventure," Jaleane told him.  
  
"But there is a chance that we might die," Ivellios replied.  
  
"Oh, that's for sure," Nahrf put in.  
  
"Silence, Nahrf," Jostiph ordered. "We will leave you a moment to decide while we search for others willing to help," he told the two elves. He and the ranger sauntered off to speak at each table.  
  
"You're suddenly afraid of death?" Jaleane asked Ivellios. "That's new for you, Vel."  
  
Ivellios considered it for a moment, then smiled. "Why not go along? Death is for those too weak to take on life!" He stood up and finished his mug.  
  
"It's just as well," Jaleane replied. "I would have gone with or without you."  
  
Ivellios scoffed. "And how far would you get?"  
  
"Farther than you," Jaleane replied.  
  
"I don't think so," Ivellios remarked.  
  
"Oh, be quiet," Jaleane ordered.  
  
"Yes, m'lady!" Ivellios replied sarcastically. He caught the eye of an elf girl across the room and winked. The girl blushed slightly and looked away. Ivellios smiled, then went to find Jostiph. Upon finding the young cleric, Ivellios tapped him on the shoulder. The priest turned to face him.  
  
"Ah," he said. "Have you reached a decision?"  
  
"We have," Ivellios replied. "We are coming with you."  
  
"Where is your companion?" Jostiph asked, looking for Jaleane. Ivellios thought she had been at his side. Not finding her there, he turned and found her slipping quietly out the front door.  
  
"Readying our horses," he told Jostiph.  
  
"I see," Jostiph replied. He turned to Nahrf and pulled him away from a table, where he was trying to convince a very unfriendly-looking dwarf to join the group. "Come, Nahrf. The group is complete. We have the magic users we need." He led Nahrf and Ivellios out the front door of the pub, shutting it behind them. Jaleane was outside, tying her backpack to the back of her brown horse. As she did, a fold of it moved, then was brushed aside from inside as a furry gray cat squeezed out to get a breath of fresh air. Jaleane shut the bag and let the cat purr against her legs as she did so, then picked it up and set it atop the horse. She mounted shortly after.  
  
Jostiph was getting his horse out of the barn along with Nahrf as Ivellios was mounting. The cleric and ranger mounted their respective horses, then rode over to Ivellios and Jaleane. Ivellios looked slightly amused at the color of Nahrf's horse, for it was white with black spots. Jostiph spoke to Ivellios.  
  
"We will lead you to Downs," he said. "It is only a short ride from here."  
  
"Lead the way," Ivellios said, gesturing for Jostiph to move ahead of him. The cleric did so, and Nahrf followed. Ivellios and Jaleane took up the rear.  
  
The trip progressed for quite some time before a word was spoken. Jaleane's cat rode in her lap, purring slightly and keeping watch for any would-be prey. Jostiph kept a watchful eye to the front of their party, while Nahrf rode alongside him. Ivellios, eyeing Nahrf's horse, soon grew curious and rode up to be alongside Nahrf.  
  
"Tell me, sir," Ivellios began.  
  
"Call me Nahrf," Nahrf interrupted.  
  
"Very well, Nahrf," Ivellios continued. "What is the name of your horse?"  
  
"Cow," Nahrf replied quickly, as if correcting Ivellios. The elf blinked.  
  
"You're riding a cow?" he asked, amused and curious at the same time.  
  
"No, I'm riding a horse," Nahrf replied, puzzled slightly.  
  
"You just said you were riding a cow," Ivellios returned.  
  
"No, I didn't," Nahrf said truthfully.  
  
"Yes, you did."  
  
"No, I didn't."  
  
"I certainly heard you say 'cow' just now."  
  
"Yes, I did say 'cow'."  
  
"So, you are riding a cow," the elf affirmed.  
  
"No, I'm not."  
  
"But you just said you said 'cow'!"  
  
"Yes, you asked me what the name of my horse was, didn't you?" Nahrf replied, annoyed at the elf's apparent thickness. Ivellios blinked again.  
  
"Your horse's name is 'Cow'?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Ivellios blinked again, sighed, then slowed down to drop back with Jaleane.  
  
"His horse's name is 'Cow'," he told her.  
  
"Whose?" Jaleane asked.  
  
"The ranger's…Nahrf's," Ivellios replied, pointing up ahead at the speckled horse.  
  
"Well, it fits, doesn't it?" Jaleane replied, amused. Ivellios sniffed in agreement.  
  
The remainder of the trip was completed in silence. Once, the cat laid its paw on Jaleane's knee and meowed slightly. Jaleane stroked it, then pulled a piece of salted meat from her pocket and fed it to the cat, which ate it quickly and purred louder for the rest of the trip. Eventually, lights showed up ahead as the party crested a small hill. Jostiph pointed ahead to the town.  
  
"Downs," he announced. The four horses and their occupants reached the town wall in no time, and dismounted as the guards opened the gate. Jaleane's cat jumped down from her lap and walked along underneath her horse as the humans and elves led their horses to the stables. While the stable boy was taking down the names of the horses, he glanced up at Nahrf when he told him the name of his horse, but said nothing. 


End file.
